“Get to work. He’s lost a lot of blood.”
“He needs a hospital. I brought a couple of bags of O-negative, but he’ll need more.”
“Just shut up and do what you can. We’ll talk about that later.”
His boss had collapsed on a sofa in the doctor’s library and was bleeding all over the man’s expensive furniture. His chest was heaving, and he had panic in his eyes.
“Ramon, don’t let me die. When this is over, I promise you. Anything you want.”
Perez was making promises out of his delirium and fear. Earlier today, the man had accused him of betrayal when he brought the American to his hacienda. Now that his life was in Ramon’s hands, the man promised him anything he wanted.
He’d helped Perez escape his fate once today. A second time might ensure him a higher rank within the cartel. As he saw it, Ramon had nothing to lose by letting the doctor do his job, no matter which way things turned out.
“Get to work. And he’d better live, Doctor, for your wife’s sake.”
Perez heaved a sigh and shut his eyes as the doctor hovered over him, checking his condition and preparing to remove the bullet from his chest. Ramon knew the doctor had been right about his boss needing a hospital, but they couldn’t afford to take the chance. If the police got word he was wounded, they would arrest him while he was vulnerable.
But while the doctor was filling a syringe with medicine, Ramon thought he heard something.
“Shush.” He aimed his weapon at the doctor and whispered, “Don’t make a sound.”
“What’s happening?” Perez lifted his head and shifted his gaze around the room.
Guerrero handed his boss a weapon and forced the doctor to his feet, putting a gun to his head. He moved toward the door near the foyer, clenching his hostage by his collar.
Was he being paranoid, or had he heard something? Guerrero held his breath and tensed his body as the hair on his neck stood on end. Instinct had sent him a message.
Someone was in the house, and he was no longer in control.
Garrett had used shrubs and hedges in the front of the private residence to get closer to the front door, with Kinkaid close on his heels. Without a nearby neighbor, they had a good shot at not being seen.
Once they got to the front entry, he’d picked the lock in seconds. Before he went inside, he whispered into his com unit to Alexa.
“We’re going inside . . . now. When you hear us, make your move.”
“Copy that,” she said.
Garrett used a hand signal to give the order to Kinkaid to enter the premises of Dr. Hernandez and follow his lead. The front door was the closest point to where the thermal imager had shown activity. And when Garrett found double doors to the right of the foyer, he knew Guerrero and Perez were only steps away.
He put his back to the nearest wall—with Kinkaid taking the other side—and listened at the door. When he heard nothing, he gave a nod. No words were necessary. Jackson reached a hand across and tested the lock.
When Kinkaid shook his head, Garrett knew the door was locked. This time stealth wouldn’t do it. They’d have to break through clean in order to get the drop on Guerrero and his boss. Garrett gripped his assault rifle, the muscles in his body growing taut as he stared at Kinkaid.
In seconds, this would all be over, one way or another.
Chapter 18
Guerrero didn’t wait for what he knew would come.
“Keep your mouth shut,” he whispered into Dr. Hernandez’s ear. “And do as I say.”
“What’s happening?” Perez kept his voice low. But when he tried to sit up, he couldn’t. The man even had trouble holding the gun he’d been given.
If they were about to be attacked, his boss would be of no use to him. Ramon was on his own. He put his arm around the doctor’s neck and squeezed, pulling him back. He kept the man’s body in front of him as he moved deeper into the room and away from the foyer door.
“Unlock this door,” he hissed into the doctor’s ear, only loud enough for him to hear, and pointed at the door behind him. When the man did as he was told, Perez spoke louder.
“Something’s going on. What is it? Talk to me.”
The bastard was talking too loud now. If someone was outside the study door, Perez was making it easy for them to locate where they were. Ramon moved back to the center of the room, closer to his boss. His mind reeled with the scenarios racing through his head. And when he saw a dim shadow move under the threshold of the library door, he knew he’d been right.
Someone had come in through the front and was outside the study. In seconds, he would know who they were, but that would be far too late.
Garrett gestured to Kinkaid. On the count of three, he’d kick the door in. Jackson would cover him with his assault rifle and be first through the door, with Garrett close on his heels. They’d done the maneuver countless times, but everything hinged on how clean he hit the door and busted it open. And with the doctor inside, they had to be careful. Opening fire without a clear target might get the man killed.
When Garrett moved into position to kick the door in, he heard gunfire.
He lunged for the wall and ducked for cover, talking fast into his earbud to Alexa. “Shots fired. Not us.”
“Copy. You okay?”
“Yeah,” Garrett whispered. “Secure your target before you assist, is that clear?”
“I copy.”
When Garrett was done talking to Alexa, Kinkaid nudged his head toward the door. He’d heard a noise coming from inside, and so had Garrett. He gave him the signal. They’d go on three . . . again.
This time when Garrett kicked the door, it crashed open, and both he and Kinkaid rushed into a library with assault rifles tight at their shoulders. They aimed at the man on the sofa, and another man screamed and held up his hands. He was cowering on the floor near Perez.
Dr. Hernandez had been gagged. And blood ran down his cheek from his temple. Another door across the room gaped open. It led into a bedroom. Garrett kept his rifle on the doctor and the big man on the sofa while Kinkaid got a look into the bedroom. When he didn’t see anything, Jackson shrugged, and said, “Clear.”
Garrett stepped closer to Perez and stared down at the man. The cartel boss had his mouth open, with his dead eyes glazed over. Two bloody holes had dented his skull, and bigger exit wounds spilled brains onto the couch cushions.
Perez was dead.
When Kinkaid stepped back into the room, he helped Dr. Hernandez with the gag as he stared down at Perez.
“Please . . . don’t shoot me. They have my wife. I only did as I was told . . . so they wouldn’t kill her. You have to believe me.”
The doctor had stayed on his knees to beg for his life. He had no idea who they were. All he saw were their guns.
“Where’s Ramon Guerrero . . . the other man who was here?” Garrett asked.
Before the doctor answered, Alexa came into the room, escorting a frantic woman in a housedress and apron, who was crying.
“Carlos, thank God you are safe.” The woman rushed to her husband’s side and fell to her knees, hugging the man who had nearly gotten her killed, all because he wanted to earn extra money working for the cartels.
But Garrett got his answer on where Guerrero had gone when an engine started. And after they heard a loud crash of grinding metal, Kinkaid rushed to the window.
An SUV burst through the garage door and ripped it apart, with Ramon Guerrero at the wheel. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that Ramon had given himself an edge—at the expense of his boss, Perez. And if he was going to run, he didn’t want Perez coming after him for his betrayal. That was why he’d killed the man.
